A Stillness of Chimes (33 page)

“Better?” he asked, pulling her close.

“Better,” she said, and for a couple of minutes, she could nearly forget why he was there. Why he’d sat in a cemetery all night.

He pulled back and studied her. “That was a long, cold night. I’m glad to be in a warm house with bright lights—and you.” He released her, walked over to the counter and pulled one of the lemon-poppy-seed muffins out of the bag. “Something tells me you didn’t get a lot of sleep, either.”

“Yeah, well, I have a few things on my mind.”

“No kidding.” He pulled off a piece of the muffin and sat at the table.

It was the same place where he’d sat on the day her dad had brought him home, so bruised from that last beating that he could hardly move. Sean had put on a show of being fine. Just fine. A little hungry, maybe. But when her dad ruffled his hair and called him son, she knew Sean had gone to a new level of hero-worship. He hadn’t seen her dad as a wigged-out Vietnam vet. Sean had simply loved him.

He pinched a piece of muffin between forefinger and thumb and frowned at it. “Stale muffins aren’t worth eating. Got coffee?”

“Sorry. No coffee. The grinder broke for good, and there’s nothing in the house but whole beans.”

“That settles it.” He stood up. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

“No. I don’t want to.”

“Never argue with a man who’s been awake all night in a graveyard.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a Coke.

“Coke? For breakfast?”

“I need some caffeine for the road. The old diner opens early. Let’s go there. Not that new froufrou place. I want real food.”

“But I want to be home in case he comes back this morning.”

“It won’t take long to grab a bite to eat. He hasn’t shown up in broad daylight yet, has he?”

“Are you actually admitting that he shows up sometimes in the night?”

Lounging against the counter, Sean studied her for a long moment before he answered. “I’m not admitting anything, darlin’.”

He was weakening, though. He’d practically acknowledged that her dad was back. A thrill ran through her, nearly distracting her from the fact that Sean had progressed to calling her “darlin’.”

The residents of Prospect were gearing up for their biggest event of the year, and in spite of the early hour, the party atmosphere was in full swing. It did nothing to calm Laura’s nerves. The main stage had been erected in the town square, and several smaller stages stood at a distance. Bright banners flapped from streetlight poles, and US flags flew everywhere in honor of Memorial Day. Posters adorned the windows of every business, including the diner.

As Sean held the diner’s door open for her, Laura glanced at the newspaper rack beside it. The headline of the weekly paper, printed every Wednesday, read “Bluegrass festivities start Friday.” The lead article featured a photo of Gibby, dressed in black as always but his hair a handsome silver now.

Sean paid no attention to the paper. Coke can in hand, he nudged her right past the “Please wait to be seated” sign toward an empty booth by the
window, set with napkin-wrapped silverware and two white coffee mugs, upside down.

He settled down across from her and drained his Coke can. A teenage waitress scurried up to the table with laminated menus in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. Sean turned both mugs right side up. Unshaven and weary, he looked like a wild man who’d just crawled out of a cave.

“Please,” he said before the waitress could speak.

“Good morning,” she chirped as she filled Laura’s mug. “How are y’all?”

“Fine and dandy, thanks,” Sean said. “How are you?”

“Fine.” She poured his coffee. “It’s gonna be a beautiful day.”

“Yep.” He pulled the sugar packets toward him and doctored his coffee. “You want the special, honey?” he asked Laura. “The big breakfast? Yeah, you do. You need to eat. Two specials, please.”

Laura decided not to argue this time. It wasn’t important.

The waitress set the coffeepot on the table and whipped out her pad. Laura answered the questions without much thought. Over medium, whole wheat, hash browns, bacon, whatever. She would eat maybe ten percent of it.

“Same, please,” Sean said. “Except grits.” He slid the empty Coke can across the table. “And throw this away for me?”

The waitress nodded, scribbling.

He raised his coffee mug to his lips. Leaving it there, he closed his eyes.

“Anything else I can get y’all?” the girl asked.

“That should do it, thanks,” Laura said, since Sean seemed to have gone into a trance.

“I’ll get that right up.” The waitress retrieved the coffeepot and walked away.

An older waitress walked past, the aroma of bacon and pancakes competing with her too-strong cologne. Laura sat up straighter, remembering.

“Sean, I forgot to tell you about the Jean Naté. My mom’s cologne. This morning I noticed it’s missing from her bedroom.”

He opened his eyes. “Who could have been in the house after I changed the locks?”

“I think it was Ardelle, days ago. Before you changed the locks. She popped in at least once that I know of, when I wasn’t home. She got defensive when Cassie brought it up, remember? Ardelle said she wasn’t a thief. Maybe she was defensive because she
is
a thief.”

“Cologne hardly seems worth stealing. She probably threw it out. Thought she was helping you de-clutter.”

“Why would she stop with only one item, then? I hate to worry Gary with it, but I should talk to Cassie, at least. She can help me figure it out.”

“Before you call her, take another look,” Sean said. “In case you missed it.”

“Good idea.”

Silence fell between them, making Laura aware of the background music. Instead of the usual soft rock, it was bluegrass in honor of the festival.

Their food, when it came, was tasteless. Laura played with it, picked at it, pushed it around her plate.

“You’ve got to eat, sweetheart,” Sean said. “Even if you don’t feel like it.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.”

He lowered his fork and searched her face. “That’s exactly what your dad always said when your mom was trying to keep him from flipping out. Or he’d give her that little wink. Remember?”

Laura nodded, fighting tears in earnest. Trying to evade Sean’s gaze, she
looked across the crowded restaurant. Nearly filled to capacity, the room rang with laughter and chatter. She wondered if any of the conversations included her father’s name.

The sheriff and a young but balding deputy had walked in, conspicuous in their khaki uniforms with their shiny badges and black holsters. The sheriff had aged since Laura had seen him last. His slicked-back hair was touched with gray now, but he’d kept his trim build.

Law-abiding public servants, the men stopped beside the “wait to be seated” sign. The hostess greeted them. Like a mama duck with two ducklings in tow, she led the men toward a table near Sean and Laura’s booth.

Watching them approach, Laura decided the timing was a godsend. If her dad chose this weekend to come back, perhaps drawn by the music, the sheriff’s department should be on the lookout. Even though they didn’t believe the rumors, they might need a reminder that if he turned up, he might be in bad shape. In need of help and protection. She glanced at Sean. He was studying her, his expression weary yet alert.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

“I should have a word with the sheriff.”

“Last I heard, you didn’t want him to get involved.”

She didn’t have time to explain. The men had arrived at their table, exchanging friendly banter with the hostess as they took their seats. She walked away, and the sheriff looked directly at Laura.

“Good morning, Miss Gantt. Sean.”

They echoed his greeting, and then Laura addressed the sheriff.

“I’d like to ask you a question or two,” she said.

“Sure,” the sheriff said with a fatherly smile. “What’s on your mind?”

She leaned toward him, not wanting to speak more loudly than necessary. “I understand you’re skeptical of the rumors about my dad.”

The sheriff’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen any evidence to back them up.”

“We need to talk, then. I might have some evidence.”

“If you have facts, ma’am, I’m interested. If it’s just more speculation … well, I’m up to my eyebrows in speculation.”

“It’s more than speculation.”

He sighed. “If you’d like to come by my office sometime, we can talk.”

“How about now? As soon as we’ve all finished eating?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got my hands full with the festival.”

Laura’s temper began to stir. “A few minutes after breakfast is too time consuming?”

“When I get this weekend behind me, I’ll have a lot less on my mind.”

“But it’s a three-day weekend.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “And?”

“I don’t want to wait until Tuesday. Tuesday might be too late.”

“Miss Gantt, how long ago did your dad disappear? Ten or twelve years ago? After all that time, I don’t believe a few more days will make much difference.”

“What if it were your father out there?” she asked fiercely, not caring anymore who heard her.

“Honey, I don’t believe it’s
your
father either. Feel free to stop by the office on Tuesday morning, though. About nine would work for me.”

His condescending tone nearly provoked her into a caustic reply, but
Sean’s boot came down on her shoe, gentle but firm. A secret signal. She looked at him, his disheveled hair hanging across his forehead, hiding those scars. One side of his mouth gave in to that sarcastic little upward tilt. His eyes shone like blue jewels.

After all the times she’d worried that he would overreact, now he was reminding her to keep her cool.

She winked, just enough for him to see it.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right
.

He winked back.

“All right,” she told the sheriff. “Tuesday morning at nine, I’ll be in your office.”

“See you then.” He moved his attention to the waitress approaching his table, and the conversation was over.

“So much for that,” Laura said under her breath.

“I love you, Laura Gantt,” Sean said, loud and clear. Right in front of everybody. He pulled out his wallet, extracted some money, and dropped the bills on the table. “You’re not arguing,” he said with a smile. “That’s progress.”

“I can never talk any sense into your head anyway.” She slid out of the booth.

Sean got up too and draped his arm around her shoulders. They went outside, into bright sunshine and a brisk wind that made the bluegrass banners tug hard against their tethers. Hammer strokes bounced off the planks of a temporary stage and reverberated across the square. A trash truck backed up, beeping. The air rang with the slap and thud of lumber being unloaded by the stage.

The vendors’ booths were up, and the vendors themselves would appear
soon to hawk their wares. Food and drink, CDs, songbooks, instruments. And Sean would be there bright and early on Saturday morning if she had to hogtie him and drag him there.

Unless her dad came back, and then nothing else would matter.

“You okay?” Sean asked. “Not too mad at the sheriff?”

“It’s just frustrating. And all this”—she motioned toward a flurry of activity near the main stage. “It makes me imagine my dad showing up in broad daylight. Walking right down the street.”

“If he does, some kind soul will recognize him and help him track you down.”

“What if he’s back to track Gibby down? And what if Dale’s right in the middle of it too?”

“Stop imagining the worst possible scenarios, Laura. You’ll live longer.”

She shook her head, weary of arguing with him.

“You have any plans for tonight?” he asked as they approached his truck.

“Not really. You?”

“Please understand why I’m not inviting you to tag along, but I’d like to camp out at the cabin tonight. To see if anybody turns up.”

She felt a chill. “You mean my dad?”

“Dale, more likely.”

She realized she’d unconsciously placed her left hand over the fading bruise on her right elbow although her sleeve hid it.

“Why tonight, though?” she asked. “Has something changed?”

“Tomorrow night, I’d like to get some sleep so I’ll be in decent shape to man my booth on Saturday. Tonight’s my last chance to stake out the cabin before the weekend.”

She stopped walking and faced him. “Hold it right there. I don’t like
the way you put that. A stakeout is for cops, looking for bad guys. My dad’s one of the good guys.”

“One of the best,” Sean said. “Absolutely.”

“No guns. Understand?”

He shot her a look of pure irritation. “No guns. But you’re not staying alone at the house. Stay at my place.”

“Sean, it’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

“Would it hurt, though?”

She took a moment to consider her options. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” she said, carefully noncommittal.

“Here’s a key to my front door.” He placed it in her hand.

“Thanks, Sean.” Afraid he would read her mind if she looked him in the eye, she hurried to climb into his truck.